


Between a Rock and a War

by Doctorinblue



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 06:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorinblue/pseuds/Doctorinblue
Summary: One day it all hits Hawkeye, and he has to learn to survive again





	Between a Rock and a War

Hawkeye pulls in another slow and shallow breath. He tries to shift all his focus to his chest - the way it expands. Or, rather, the way it doesn't seem to expand at all. His hands shake against his rib cage, twisted up and curled tightly into the blankets. The shaking doesn't stop or slow, rattling him to his spine. Another exhale, and god, he wants a drink. He wants to be home, throw his arms around his dad, but that comes with a large side of losing BJ and he can't bear the thought. He pulls his fingers free, the shaking crawling up his arms and settling behind his ribs.

Releasing another shuddering exhale, he rolls his head against the too soft pillow. He can just make out BJ's back, imagines the even rise and fall of sleep beneath the blankets. Trapper left and BJ filled his spot. Henry died and Potter landed in their little section of awful. Nothing stays the same here. It changes, forces Hawkeye to watch it burn to ashes and then reform into something he has to learn to love again. New people fill more of his heart, and they'll take it with them when they go. Hawkeye knows the cost of love here, and he keeps paying it because empty is worse than broken.

Or, at least it used to be. He doesn't know now.

He shakes. His whole body rattles the cot; his heart pounds inside his chest and pulses at the base of his throat. The air in the Swamp is too thick. The air in Korea is too thick. He can't breathe here. If he could just get in a breath surely the shaking would stop. Surely the darkness would recede, even just a little.

He kicks the blankets away and drops his legs over the side, forearm shoving him upright. Fingers fumble in the darkness until he feels the tops of the boots and he slides them across the dirt until he can shove his feet inside. His fingers slip off the laces an alarming amount of times before he finally gets them messily tied.

He needs to get away. And as much as he longs to wake BJ, to hear a soft voice promise him that it will somehow be okay, he can't cross the line. He'll survive without the help. He's done it before. He'll do it again. 

Or he'll die trying.

The war has taken so much from him, stolen bits away when he isn't watching (a dash of kindness, a helping of sanity) and he's left to helplessly shift into an evolving, or devolving, version of Hawkeye. All the fractured parts he'd arrived with are open wounds now, jagged and raw edges that he's too afraid to touch, even to mend. So he avoids them, feelings turned mines that he tiptoes around.

He steps out the Swamp and into the too still night air. Klinger is nowhere to be seen.

Small blessings.

His breath comes out faster here, freer. Clenching his fists, he crosses the camp, swings open the supply door and slinks inside. Weaving his way to the back cot, he drops down onto it and his fingers curl over the edge. His chest seems to collapse, his head dropping, his shoulders falling forward.  This isn't something he normally does, the heavy breathing without a partner, but he's starting to become used to it after the last few weeks. 

When nothing had changed, and everything had changed, and it caught up to him with the force of a brakeless train. He's left gasping now, grasping for a hold, no matter how tentative, on reality.

Thoughts close in around his chest and throat, tiny fingers, so harmless on the surface, threatening to pull him into an abyss. A single thought beckons him, white-hot and dangerous but still so tempting all the same. _Give in, now. Rest._  

He'd give anything to escape, accept a scalpel or a bottle of pills as easily as he would a kind word and a pair of familiar arms. Hawkeye grips the cot a little tighter, feels it vibrate as the tremors roll over him.

Then, it stops. And he's left somewhere beyond exhausted, can't bear the thought of trekking back to the Swamp. So he doesn't. He scoots until he's on the cot, fingers tucked between knees, and lets sleep make a claim. 

**M**

Hands shake him awake. So gentle, and slow, and he hates that he jerks up anyway, roughly grasps the arms attached. He lets out an exhale, fingers curling around familiar muscles.

"Hawk?"

He blinks until BJ becomes clear, and wishes at once that he hadn't. BJ's face is tight, so full of concern that guilt churns deep in Hawkeye's gut. That burning pain in his stomach flares a little brighter. BJ's eyes search him, for what Hawkeye isn't sure. His hands are steady now, and he sits up and manages a smile. _Only broken on the inside, Beej. Still here._

"What are you doing out here?" BJ finally asks, taking a step back while Hawkeye stretches for show.

Hawkeye rolls his neck, drops a hand back to massage at the stiffness over his spine. He can't quite meet BJ's eyes, even with a smile firmly planted on his face. BJ doesn't need to know. BJ worries too much.

"Ferret Face was snoring," Hawkeye says. "Didn't you hear it?"

BJ shifts and Hawkeye isn't sure he believes him. He also isn't sure that BJ is ready to face him head-on, that he wouldn't rather lure him to self-care than force him into it.

"You should have woken me, Hawk."

Hawkeye's throat tightens for a moment, but he pushes it away. It's so much easier in the day, and he rolls his eyes and climbs to his feet.

"What for?" he says, brushing by BJ and heading for the door. "I need coffee. Coming?"

He pauses, looks over his shoulder at BJ's best kicked-puppy impression.

Then BJ nods, and air fully fills Hawkeye's lungs. He can make it. He has to make it.

 BJ needs him.

 

 

 


End file.
